


Dwemer

by danithemani



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Daedra, Daedra Worship, Drabble, Dwemer Ruins, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Life, Married Sex, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Size Difference, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danithemani/pseuds/danithemani
Summary: The Dragonborn is strange to everyone but his husband. To Stenvar, what he has to say makes perfect sense.





	Dwemer

"The Dwemer were fascinating. They derived such intense pleasure from the suffering of others."

  
Danier reached forward and touched the blade, bouncing backwards when it cut his finger. A warm yellow glow fixed that quickly, but the surly look stayed.  
  
"Shame about their faulty gods and mysterious demise. They had a wonderful life otherwise, it seems."  
  
The Nord stood behind him, admiring the Altmer's attentive gaze as he ran his fingers on the stonework. The cut was gone, wounds closed and skin ready to explore the rough texture of the ruins. Stenvar had never met anyone like him before, painfully intelligent yet so naive to the ways of the world. He thought even blades would bow to him.  
  
"Don't all elves?"  
  
The gruff voice caught Danier off guard. He caught his stumble, with the grace bestowed on all his kind.  
  
"Hmm? What is that, hus-band?"  
  
It was a foreign word to Danier, one that held strange promises.  Forever. One and only. Love. It was odd to worship with someone you loved. One would never worship with children, for example, or Skritch the Skeever. This was love. These were acts beyond the Princes, who felt no love and rarely compassion. They required no rituals, things that you loved. So what he had for Stenvar was marriage. Marriage required rings and vows and a temple to weak gods. But his Nord said this was love too, and he trusted him. He trusted hus-band.  
  
"I said, don't all elves like the suffering of others?"  
  
Stenvar grinned, both at his jarr and the Elf's reaction. He remembered the first time Danier said it, repeating it back, slow and scrambled. _His-bund? What an atrocious name, this poor woman, married to_ on oaf _named His-bund._ The Nord explained it was the name of a man who was married. This was Stenvar's name now, it was special to Danier, like love was to him.  
  
"No, Altmer only like to make small Nords suffer. You are very lucky."  
  
With a wave of his fingers, lightning zapped through the air and hit Stenvar in the nose. Only a zap, enough to make his beard bristle and his eyebrows fly out of place. How he was that precise with his back turned was an anomaly.  
  
"Then you're successful, love."  
  
Even marriage was a new concept, and a very difficult one to adjust to. _I make sacrifices for you, Stenny. This takes away from Sanguine. We must pray, let us find a place to rest._  It seemed that Danier's entire religion was about sex, and different gods required different variants, as much as Danier insisted he was missing the point. Sanguine was theatrical, He wanted a spectacle, a show to peruse. Boethiah needed lust and passion, energy and vigor. Mephala wanted to watch minds unravel and be sewn back together. According to the Elf, even Talos demanded these rituals, something rough and strong, with power and pain.  
  
"I don't know why this surprises you. I excel at most things."  
  
Stenvar was strange. He was not afraid of Danier's robes, the purple dance between his fingers, the perfume of poison in his hair. He did not seem impressed by his power or knowledge, merely accepted it. And he did not scare Danier either, like most Nords used to. They were loud and heaving, smelled of musk, looked his body up and down in ways not becoming of even the strongest of gods. But there was nothing frightening about hus-band, not the swing of his sword, his meaty hands, his deep voice. Of course Stenvar was a Nord, he was his Nord. But he was very different.  
  
"Humility included."  
  
Love did not come easily to Stenvar. Danier could find love in the bloom of nightshade, a pair of well-fitting gloves, the chirp of a fox. The world was open to him, or so he thought. A flick of a wrist and a spell would be cast, changing even the strongest of creatures into a mewling kitten in front of him. Nords didn't love so easily. Stenvar certainly didn't."  
  
"Well of course there are exceptions. Why would I excel at something as terrible as being humble?"  
  
Danier was aware he was no ordinary Altmer, either. Most of his kind rejected him, saw him as impure or too radical. They didn't like on his magicks, they didn't like his marriage, they didn't like his Rebellion. Just like their gods, they were weak, unable to accept the truth. That mattered little to Danier. He was still an Altmer. His broad nose, full lips, dark skin, black curly hair, those were features not commonly found amongst his people. But his mother was a Redguard, a mercenary for a caravan. Danier was still an Altmer.  
  
"May I hold your hand, Danier?"  
  
The Altmer glanced down at him, green eyes that matched his own. Formality is necessary when one's body is a temple.  
  
"Yes. Thank you."  
  
Danier liked to tell the children in Solitude he was a Dwemer, with their brooding features and secret past. There was a part of him that felt like this was true. He was at home only down below, in places like this, in Blackreach. The blue glow from the mushrooms did not burn like the sun, and the moist air made his magic stronger. He belonged here, in this ancient place, where people used to look like him. Atar, may he be forever at Sanguine's table, told Danier that he was special, that he was meant for wonderful things. Atar did not lie, just like Danier did not lie to his own children.  
  
"Where do you think they went?"  
  
Massive towers held up the sky that the rock itself seemed to grow out if it. The Dwemer seemed to be here before even the soil.  
  
"One does not spurn the Daedra and live."  
  
Sometimes Stenvar felt that Danier knew more than he let on. He was the champion of Hermaeus Mora and their library was dusted with thick, black books that made his headaches worse. He smiled to himself, remembering the way his husband's warm hands ran across his scalp to fix them. The chill made him nervous, and reminded him he was underground. He clung to Danier, who guided him under his robes and against his chest. He held the cloth close under his chin and felt his husband's heat and the smell of dried herbs from his satchel. Being close to him was safer than the cave outside.  
  
"Clavicus Vile?"  
  
The Altmer stared ahead, letting green magic pulse into Stenvar's palm. Relief flooded his mind, along a heady fog that came with his husband's brand of magic.  
  
"No. Peryite. The Dwemer were diseased. Stenvar, warm your hands. You will feel better."  
  
Danier spoke like he was reciting a children's book, matter-of-factly and with ease. The Nord didn't ask how he knew, simply listened and slipped his hands between the Altmer's thighs while Danier crossed his arms against Stenvar's chest.  


“Let's find a place to rest, love.”

 

* * *

  
  
The massive door creaked closed behind them. The room was dark and Danier lit a light above Stenvar's head with a grin. Magelight glistened across his Nordic armor, highlighting every carving on the man's broad chest.  
  
"By Azura, you are handsome."  
  
The Altmer leaned down to kiss him, taking his armor by the fur-lined collar and pulling him onto his toes. When he pulled back, Stenvar's gaze was icy.  
  
"On your knees."  
  
The Altmer smiled, settling his robes so the stone floor wouldn't touch his bare skin. He watched the Nord lean against the wall and gaze at him expectantly.  
  
"Yes, hus-band."  
  
This must be for Talos. His Nord didn't always have this rough look about him, but he was more inclined towards this after he was scared. It helped him regain his composure, his confidence. This was what Talos was for, for Nords and their rituals. If his husband wanted to believe in this god, then he would help him. He was not as weak as the others; he helped his Nord so much. Danier waited with his hands in his lap as he watched Stenvar undo his belt.  
  
"Good elf."  
  
Stenvar wrapped one hand in Danier's black locks, guiding his movements. The other hand, the one with the ring, scratched behind the Elf's ear. It reminded Danier who was in control when he felt the diamond tap against his skin. He gulped around him, tongue sliding across the bottom of Stenvar's length. He moved without hesitation. Occassionally Stenvar would push him against his hips, a cue for Danier to choke and close his eyes. Danier knew he was safe, these things did not worry him.  
  
“Mind the fangs.”  
  
Sooner then they both expected, wet heat hit the back of Danier's throat. His eyes watered, but he made no noise. The Nord didn't worry, but watched as his jaw relaxed and a smile returned to his lips. When Stenvar withdrew, a quiet whine escaped the Altmer, and he had to bite his cheek to avoid nipping his husband. He wasn't through, but too much and it would sore him.

“Get up, come wash it down.”

Danier seemed to float off the ground. Hunger flashed in his eyes, and he tugged Stenvar's beard to gain access to his neck. Warm lips were the only warning the Altmer gave before teeth tore into skin and he pressed the man against the wall.

“Settle, gentle.”

Stenvar's voice was low and soothing, not demanding as it was before. Danier agreed, letting go of his scruff and sliding his hand to the other side of his neck. 

“Better. Good boy, there we go.”

He let his tongue draw over his Nord's skin, comparing the tastes. Danier did not know which one he liked better; so he chose both. He felt Stenvar falter and he licked the wound, sighing as he closed the surface with a wave of his hand.

“Danier, why do you always clean it up? Isn't it easier to feed on an open wound?”

The Nord's face was pale, but it couldn't have been from the blood. He only had a treat, Stenvar couldn't afford to lose that much energy in a place like this.

“You are not cattle. I will not mark you. You wear my ring, you share my marriage. You are not a meal.”

  
Stenvar smiled and guided them to the stone bed. The Altmer was not sure why he seemed so satisfied with that answer, but he could smell a change under his skin. Danier pulled his Nord into his lap. He was still soft against his thigh, not bothering to buckle his belt and tuck himself away. He enjoyed how Nords looked, small and uncut and pink. Stenvar's was his favorite.  
  
"Love you, Stenny."  
  
Marriage was strange. It made him feel soft and weak, vulnerable. He didn't mind, not with Stenvar. The Nord's hands made sparks leave his fingertips, crackling against their sheets when he held him close.  
  
"Mephala cloak you, Danier."  
  
Maybe that was what the saying meant. That was how Stenvar felt with Danier - cloaked, safe, guarded.  
  
"After a nap, we can go to the surface and I can take you. Would this please you?"  
  
Stenvar was strange about his worship. Some things held great shame for him, and others filled him with pride. Danier saw no difference between the acts, but there was a hierarchy in Stenvar's mind of things a Nord man could and could not do. They did these things in secrecy, whispers low so the Housecarl could not hear. Nords did not lay on their backs got Elves, but hus-band did for him. He was different. Marriage changed him, Stenvar had said.  
  
"We'll see. Just don't let go now, Danier." 

Stenvar leaned into him and the Altmer wrapped his arms around the man's back.

  
"Of course, hus-band. I'll wait for your decision.”

 

  


  



End file.
